


Soften Her Edges

by Emotionalhyperbole



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Basically Leliana calls Jamila beautiful and she starts crying, Character Study, Crying, F/F, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Sex, Introspection, Light Angst, Morning After, No Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:01:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26672593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emotionalhyperbole/pseuds/Emotionalhyperbole
Summary: Jamila is a thing of power, she thinks. Powerful body with powerful words formed by powerful thoughts. She comes from a world where power meant nothing if you don't have the name for it, and Brosca wasn't good enough for that.
Relationships: Female Brosca/Leliana (Dragon Age), Leliana/Female Warden (Dragon Age), Leliana/Warden (Dragon Age)
Kudos: 15





	Soften Her Edges

  
  
Jamila is a thing of power, she thinks. Powerful body with powerful words formed by powerful thoughts. She comes from a world where power meant nothing if you don't have the name for it, and _Brosca_ wasn't good enough for that.  
  
Her short, compact body carries scars both new and old. Some, like the one on her shoulder that she got at the hands of a rather ballsy Hurlock, still itch and sting to remind her of what she's become. The way it turns purple against her brown skin in the cold reminds her of a bruise, ancient and unhealing, like the Darkspawn taint in her blood. Whether it's the poison or the scars that make her a _Warden_ , she's unsure.  
  
Strong arms and legs make it easy for her to leap around on the battlefield, knives burying themselves in her enemies' backs over and over in a repetitive rhythm she's since become numb to. The dance she does between Leliana's arrows, Morrigan's spells, Alistair's swings; it's all just a series of motions she's learned to master. She forgets herself on the battlefield. She forgets herself off of it.  
  
And then there's Leliana.  
  
Leliana, tall and pale, with blue eyes and striking red hair, and an accent that sometimes confuses Jamila. She's soft with her words and graceful with her actions, firing off arrows with a fluidity that is clearly practiced, but not monotonous. The movements come to her naturally, but not so much so that it tires her, as if every swift death she doles out is done with blessings from her Maker himself. Jamila doesn't think the Stone can do that.  
  
And so it comes as a baffling surprise when one day, out of the blue, she starts a conversation with Jamila by complimenting her hair.  
  
"My... hair?" She had stuttered, voice scratchy like it always is, the fresh, surface air always just a little _too_ cool as it goes down. She'd lifted her hand to the back of her head, thick, scarred fingers running through the errant brown curls, catching on several tangles and realising that she needs a shower.  
  
Leliana had giggled- actually _giggled!_ Jamila assumes she must have made a face at the greasy state of her hair, and doesn't know what else to do other than laugh quietly under her breath as well.  
  
They had shared more conversations with each other after that, and eventually it evolved into spending every day together at camp. Leliana would cut her hair when it got too long, then her own when Jamila was too afraid to do it for her. That tiny, razor-sharp blade had felt far too heavy in her grasp, a tool for beauty in the hands of a killer. She didn't know how to touch anything without breaking it.  
  
But then Leliana had touched her first, and then she'd pulled one of Jamila's smaller, but thicker hands to rest on her waist, and neither of them hurt anywhere. And if they did, it was a good pain. Broken bones that set themselves wrong being rebroken in order to heal. They'd kissed that same night, and everything was soft.  
  
A month later, Jamila had awoken in their now shared tent, naked except for the blanket that falls down to her waist as she sits up. Leliana lies next to her, equally as naked. She looks like a painting you'd see in a Chantry, but... _real._ If they painted Leliana they'd surely give her longer hair, maybe blonde like Andraste herself. They'd take her freckles and trade it for a healthier flush on fuller cheeks. Would they make her already petite breasts smaller? Bigger? Would they hide them completely? Would they take the hair from her legs, give her curves where there are none?  
  
Jamila thinks she'd draw her better herself, and has half a mind to do so immediately, because _surely_ someone so-  
  
"You're beautiful."  
  
Jamila looks down at Leliana, her stormy blue eyes open and enamoured by the woman beside her. Jamila's eyes go wide as she scrambles onto hands and knees to look at Leliana more clearly. She smiles up at her, a slight blush painting her cheeks in splotches. The day is warm already, and a faint sheen of sweat makes her glow in the early sunlight, holy for no one but Jamila to worship- and _she'd_ called her beautiful. Brosca? Beautiful? There's power to that, Jamila thinks, as her wide eyes brim with tears that start falling onto the off-white bedrolls they'd merged together into one.  
  
"Oh!" She hears Leliana exclaim, though her eyes won't blink, let alone focus through the tears. "Oh, no! Don't cry!"  
  
And then Jamila's being gathered into a pair of soft arms, scarred in places that only she gets to see, soft and downy hairs tickling her ear as bony, calloused hands cup the back of her head. Dexterous fingers untangle the knots in her hair. They are the same fingers that created them. The same fingers that had made her pliant, soft and moving smoothly just the night before. Jamila's voice sounds almost smooth in memory, Leliana's name gentle on her tongue like nothing else is.  
  
She clutches the other woman with hands that only know how to break things, but loosens her grip with a conscious effort, afraid to leave bruises on Leliana's skin. Slowly, softly, patiently, she learns how to hold without hurting.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back to posting the stuff I write now, I guess.
> 
> For what it's worth, I hope you enjoyed my attempt at stringing together words to make them sound pretty in your head. I might do it some more, with other characters from the rest of the series thrown in the mix as well, so feedback and constructive criticism would be much appreciated!
> 
> Also: title is based off a quote from Leliana in (I think) Inquisition, though I'm not 100% sure.
> 
> <3


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